


The Neighbors

by DoYourResearch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestication, F/M, Friendship, Illnesses, Isolation, Loneliness, Mental Instability, Neighbors, Poverty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 05:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2097186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYourResearch/pseuds/DoYourResearch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has found out that Sherlock Holmes is a murderer. The truth spread like wildfire after the death of Magnussen and with no sign of Moriarty after his message saved Sherlock from his death sentence, no one trusts him. He's no longer allowed to work with Scotland Yard and no clients trust him. The Watsons have their work cut out for them as new parents and this leaves Sherlock alone. He receives the occasional visit from Molly Hooper who is trying to keep her own life in order. With financial difficulties caused by Sherlock's lack of work, Mrs. Hudson is forced to rent out the flat downstairs. Mycroft finds a way to meddle since his brother refuses to work for him by selecting his new neighbors. Sherlock finds himself getting caught up in a whirlwind of domestication, discovering what it means to live the life of the people he had disregarded for years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Real World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock had tried to argue with Mycroft for money. His brother merely responded, “Sherlock Holmes, you can get a job or join your homeless network. I have a posi-” 
> 
> Sherlock hung up.

All of England had closed itself off to Sherlock Holmes. He had returned home to Baker Street when Moriarty had supposedly presented himself as alive throughout the nation. It granted him a reprieve from what was to be a long, drawn out death sentence. He supposed he couldn’t be entirely hateful of the evil mastermind for saving his life but it had been nearly six months and Jim Moriarty was nowhere to be seen.

“I have a theory,” John Watson said, a few days before his and Mary’s daughter was born and he disappeared into the cave of parenthood, “Irene Adler was the one who called off Moriarty at the pool. Perhaps, it was her again.”

Sherlock had considered the idea, “It seems perfectly plausible but you forgot one thing, John.”

The short doctor stared at his best friend with a questioningly look before the detective finally answered, “The Woman loves to gloat. She lives for the power over others. If she had saved me, she would not remain quiet about it.”

“Or maybe,” John rebutted, “she knows that she needs to stay quiet if she wants the rest of the world thinking she’s still dead.”

Sherlock froze and snapped his cold eyes to his partner, “Wait, how did you even know she was alive?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess since you came back to life and now apparently Moriarty has, too,” John replied smugly, “I’m not stupid, Sherlock.”

When Sherlock huffed in response, John knew it was time to go back to his very pregnant wife who was awaiting his return with ice cream and bread & butter pickles.

The next time Sherlock saw John was at the birth of Elaine Margaret Watson. The newborn was healthy and, though Sherlock didn’t want to say it aloud, positively beautiful. It had been three months since then and parenthood had overwhelmed the Watsons.

It didn’t take long for word of Sherlock’s crime to spread throughout the country. He found it increasingly difficult to find clients and the Yard refused to ask for his assistance. The consulting detective had cornered Detective Inspector Lestrade one evening, bored beyond belief, to beg for a case. He was desperate enough to take even the simplest and mind-numbing ones if it would get him away from Mrs. Hudson’s constant marathon of stories of the old days.

“You know I’d love to give you something, mate,” Greg told him as they stood outside of the morgue at St. Bart’s one evening. Sherlock had arrived with a pack of Greg’s favorite cigarettes though he had already opened them and lit one for himself first. He felt bad for Sherlock but he couldn’t overlook the fact that his friend and colleague was a murderer.

Greg patted his back, “It’s going to take a long time before anyone forgets what you did. I’d get sacked in a heartbeat if anyone knew I asked you on a crime scene.”

Sherlock had finally had to change his number because of the number of harassing phone calls from reporters and the angry public. Both he and John had to bar comments on their blogs as they had become quite threatening. Though he had spent most of his life as an outsider, Sherlock had never felt so hated and alone.

To make matters even worse, the lack of cases brought with it a lack of income. Sherlock had a trust fund that his family had set up when he was born. His brother, Mycroft Holmes, also had one. The difference was that Sherlock could only access the interest that accumulated from the main funds and Mycroft had no restrictions whatsoever. Mycroft had been given control of Sherlock’s trust fund several years back when it was discovered that his little brother was harboring a drug problem. The easy access to money exacerbated the problem. Minor relapses ensured that the distribution of finances would not change.

“Dear, you know I’d never put you on the street,” Mrs. Hudson had said a few mornings ago when Sherlock could not provide her with his share of the utilities. He had just barely had enough from his funds to pay the rent. For the first time in a very long time, Sherlock Holmes felt the pulls in his chest brought on by financial burden.

Sherlock had tried to argue with Mycroft for money. His brother merely responded, “Sherlock Holmes, you can get a job or join your homeless network. I have a posi-” 

Sherlock hung up.

Mrs. Hudson had heard the argument through the thin walls of the building. She sighed, knowing that times were hard for her favorite tenant. It was with deep guilt one morning when she brought him his tea that she said, “Sherlock, dear, I think I’m going to have to move your things from the flat downstairs and rent it out.”

The look that Sherlock gave his landlady caused her to regret even mentioning it despite the fact she had already put up an ad in the daily paper and asked John to see if any of his and Mary’s friends would be interested in the basement flat.

This was how a young man by the name of Lawrence Hurley stepped through the front door of the building with only a few boxes of possessions. He was the only possible tenant that Sherlock had failed to scare off when he viewed the flat with Mrs. Hudson.

Lawrence had asked to be called Larry. He was a Canadian medical school graduate who had decided to do his residency in London. He informed his new landlady that his fiancée would be joining him once she received clearance with her visa.

Sherlock had watched Larry from his window as he unloaded his few possessions from the taxi he had arrived in. He scowled as Mrs. Hudson embraced him with open arms and warmly guided him to his flat, kindly refusing any of her offers for help or tea.

There was furniture in the flat already and Larry thanked Mrs. Hudson profusely for providing him with clean sheets. She had gone out of her way to clean the flat but he assured her that he would keep everything neat without her assistance.

“I practically babysit Sherlock upstairs. It’s habit that I do it now,” Mrs. Hudson said with a chuckle. She left Larry in his flat and went upstairs to her own before calling up to Sherlock, “The new tenant is here, Sherlock! Try not to be too much of a bother!”

Sherlock refused to call back down to her. He violently grabbed his violin and plucked the strings. Hearing them hum in tune, he began to loudly play, purposely producing a loud screeching sound that resonated down the street.


	2. The Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Popping out for a bit, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked, hoping to convince him to pick up biscuits for his morning tea so that she could focus on cleaning. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his landlady’s simplicity. He was not wearing his coat or gloves and even in the warm weather they were being treated with, he would never go without them.
> 
> Sherlock faked a smile and responded, “Not today, Mrs. Hudson. I felt it was time to properly introduce myself to our neighbor.”

“Getting involved?” Mycroft asked with amusement when he received a text from his brother to have background checks performed on his new neighbor and his still absent fiancée. He had overheard Larry mention her a multitude of times whenever Mrs. Hudson would stop him in the hallway before descending to the basement flat.

Sherlock despised that Mycroft had called him and even more so now that he had answered the phone, “I see nothing wrong with knowing who lives underneath you.”

Mycroft snickered, “Perhaps, if you realized that your game of playing detective has come to end and came to work for me, you would not have to ask for my help.” Sherlock ignored the job offer once more, “Do you have the information I requested or not?”

“Relax, little brother,” Mycroft said coolly, “Your neighbor checks out. I even had Anthea pull up information on his fiancée. She’s seems like a bit of a firecracker. I’d keep an eye on that one.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sherlock asked suspiciously but Mycroft would only say, “I’ll let you find out for yourself. I’ve taken the liberty of expediting her visa so you should be meeting her soon enough.”

Sherlock huffed with annoyance and Mycroft responded, “Who do you think put forth Mr. Hurley to your humble abode?” A groan escaped the younger Holmes as his brother continued, “You need a doctor in your residence since the position has been vacated.”

Sherlock protested quickly, “I don’t need you meddling in my affairs, Mycroft!”

“What are you going to do, tell mummy?” Mycroft said with proud sarcasm before he hung up on Sherlock, leaving his sibling thirsty for information as well as rage in his veins. He realized he was going to need to infiltrate his neighbor’s life if he wanted to know more about them. It was exactly what Mycroft wanted but he saw no other option.

Sherlock checked his outfit to make sure he had not spilled any chemicals or bodily substances on it. He was grateful for Molly Hooper for providing him supplies and samples to work with. If it weren’t for her, he’d have lost his mind already. She was one of the few friends that still catered to him in his new form of exile.

After a quick ruffle of his hair, Sherlock stepped out of his flat and descended the stairs. It took only moments for Mrs. Hudson to appear at her door to eye him walking down.

“Popping out for a bit, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked, hoping to convince him to pick up biscuits for his morning tea so that she could focus on cleaning. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his landlady’s simplicity. He was not wearing his coat or gloves and even in the warm weather they were being treated with, he would never go without them.

Sherlock faked a smile and responded, “Not today, Mrs. Hudson. I felt it was time to properly introduce myself to our neighbor.”

A smile quickly grew on Mrs. Hudson’s face and she clapped, “Oh, Sherlock, that’s so kind of you.” He ignored her cheer and looked up at his brow in annoyance before walking swiftly past her and down the stairs to the bottom flat that he had been using for storage for years.

Sherlock could hear the end of a phone call with who Sherlock assumed was Larry’s fiancée. He straightened his already perfect posture and knocked swiftly on the door. The heavy footsteps he was accustomed to hearing over the past several weeks when Larry was coming and going to his long shifts at the hospital seemed light and carefree. The door opened quickly and the blonde haired, blue-eyed tenant smiled at Sherlock as if they were the best of friends.

“Mr. Holmes, amazing timing! Come in and have a drink with me!” Larry said enthusiastically and ushered Sherlock in. He uncomfortably stepped over the threshold into the rejuvenated flat. 

Larry was wearing a pair of clean scrubs and a fresh whiff of cologne meant he would soon be heading to his shift at the hospital. He appeared well rested despite having worked a twelve-hour shift the day before. A glance around the flat showed that the young doctor had settled in quite easily. It looked like there were two inhabitants of the flat but the single set of dinnerware in the drying rack by the sink and wrinkles to one side of the sofa meant that only one was currently residing there. He had prepared the flat for his fiancée and she would be coming sooner than he anticipated. 

“I feel like I’ve been a terrible neighbor but the hospital has been giving me the worst hours lately,” Larry said as he closed the door once Sherlock was inside. He rushed into the kitchen and called out, “Do you prefer red or white wine? I’ll be having water since I’m going into work in an hour.”

Sherlock forced a smile, “I don’t drink. It dulls the senses. Water will be suitable.” His voice was overly friendly and it caused a slight fault in his neighbor’s sincere smile. He tried to shake it off and poured both he and Sherlock a glass of water.

The fullness of Larry’s smile returned as he handed Sherlock his drink and said “I just received a fantastic phone call from my fiancée. She just had her visa cleared months before we expected. She’s moving in next week!”

“Oh, how surprising,” Sherlock said with much less enthusiasm than he had been showing, cursing his brother silently in his mind. He couldn’t understand what his brother was playing at and why he was intent on holding the information over his head like dangling string over a cat. 

Larry cleared his throat nervously and asked, “Mrs. Hudson says you used to live with your partner?”

Sherlock nodded, “I did. He moved on to pursue marital affairs.”

A quick laughed escaped from Larry, “I know how that is. I used to date a girl when I was an undergrad. We were only twenty and she was determined to get married and pop out a kid. When I made it clear I wasn’t planning on doing any of that stuff until I got out of med school, she sought out the first guy to throw a ring on her finger and had twins less than a year later.”

“Fascinating,” Sherlock responded with a quick roll of his eyes that Larry was too self-occupied to notice. He glanced to the door and smiled when he saw his neighbor’s coat hanging on the door. Clipped to the coat’s front was an identification tag from St. Bart’s. He could very easily feign a visit to either John or Molly during one of their shifts to gain access to the employee records.

Larry spoke again, pulling Sherlock from his thoughts. “If I remember correctly, Mrs. Hudson said you were a detective of sorts. How’s business treating you these days?”

The mention of his currently failing work caused a sour expression to fall upon his face as he said, “Having a bit of a dry spell.” His neighbor nodded, “What with the economy everywhere these days not being what it used to, it’s a tough world to be in.”

“Have you considered playing the violin professionally? I hear you playing at all hours up there. I’m not an expert but sometimes you play some amazing stuff,” Larry said kindly. Sherlock looked to him, “I despise wearing ties.”

The response caught Larry off guard but he responded, “Me too, Mr. Holmes.” He was quite confused but then Sherlock added, “Imagine going to see an orchestra where the men were not wearing bowties. You might not care but the pompous and pretentious swine that frequent those events would have a fit. There is no true appreciation for the arts anymore. It’s been manipulated and distorted to serve social statuses. I refuse to play meaningless games.”

“Yeah,” Larry said uncomfortably but trying to keep up with peculiar neighbor “stick it to the man.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow humorously at Larry. “I apologize.” Sherlock said, though not truly meaning it, “I’ve been without proper socialization for a bit of time now.”

Larry gave him a warm smile and reached out to him, clapping his shoulder, “It’s all good. That’s what happens when someone leaves us. It’ll get better.”

“I suppose it will,” Sherlock replied.


	3. An Evening Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s been a long time since he’s been here. You can’t live like this,” Molly said softly as she placed the file that was in her hand down onto the pile she had made. She glanced at it and smiled, “I remember this case.”
> 
> “The Speckled Blonde, as John felt the need to call it,” Sherlock said sarcastically but there was a fondness in his voice that Molly couldn’t miss. She felt it best not to draw attention to it and said, “Well, you look decent enough. Shall we head out?”

“Evening, Sherlock,” Molly Hooper announced as she entered the open door to Sherlock’s flat. Mrs. Hudson had let the petite pathologist into the building as she was carrying a bag of groceries inside from the shop down the street. Molly assisted her with putting the items away while the landlady went on about how nice it was to see her.

After nearly twenty minutes of forced pleasantries, Molly managed to escape upstairs. The consulting detective knew it was she simply by the sound of her footsteps on the creaking stairs. He had also heard Mrs. Hudson’s enthusiastic voice carry to his flat with ease. 

The tall and fit man caught Molly off guard. He was in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs with a pillow on his lower back. His fingers were tangled in his curly, sweaty locks with his elbows pointed out. It took a few moments to for her to work out what exactly she was seeing. It was not the first time she had seen his shirtless body but it was a rare sight to see and it still caught her quite off guard.

“I’m trying to exercise. What do you want?” Sherlock growled in a typical rude tone. He brought the top half of his body up, folding at his abdomen and nearly kissing his bent knees before lowering himself down with control, never releasing tension in his core. He continued his motions while Molly felt entranced by his muscles rippling underneath his taught skin that glistened with his sweat.

When no immediate answer came from Molly, Sherlock groaned and at the top of his sit-up, he stopped and glared at her, “You’ve seen countless numbers of dead bodies. You cannot truly be that surprised by my own.”

A heavy blush crept over Molly’s face that was only moments slower than her feelings of pure embarrassment. She fumbled an apology, “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know you worked out. I mean, you are quite fit and you’re not dead. I mean, of course you’re not dead! I’ve seen live bodies, too…”

“Molly!” Sherlock said loudly and firmly. It ended her rambling, giving her a moment to reset her thoughts and blurt out, “Sorry, I just wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner! John says you’ve probably not been out much.”

The mention of John caused a stone cold expression to overtake his features and he said with a hint of bitterness, “I don’t see why John cares. It’s not as if he’s come to check on me himself.”

It was clearly evident that Sherlock missed John. Molly simply knew and it was when she had called John earlier in the day to check up on his new family life that she should check in on his best friend. John hadn’t really mentioned Sherlock much except to say that he hadn’t had the time to stop by Baker Street. 

Molly was quite lonely herself these days. Her failed relationship with her fiancé was followed by one of her best mates marrying him, making them both her biggest enemies after James Moriarty. After that, she watched the rest of her girlfriends find successful relationships or have children, making them practically nonexistent. If she didn’t have her job and her cat, she probably wouldn’t have any form of socialization. 

Occasionally, Greg Lestrade would drop by the morgue on official Scotland Yard business. With Sherlock out of the game, he felt less compelled to oversee any investigatory work done in her domain. Molly would talk to an endless cycle of officers and detectives, rarely seeing the same faces more than a few times in a month. 

To Molly’s horror, there had been a cheeky detective who was what Molly felt to be impossibly short as she towered his height by a few centimeters. He had been quite revolting and offensive in his attempt to charm the pathologist. Even if she didn’t have Sherlock’s voice in her head to avoid any future romantic attempts, she wanted to run as far away from the man as possible. She had texted Lestrade immediately after she had gotten him to leave to state that she never wanted him in her morgue again. The Detective Inspector honored her wish and promised to make it up to her over a few pints. The offer had been made nearly a month prior but she had yet to see their plans come to fruition. She was beginning to wonder if she was repelling every person of value and worth from her life.

“You mentioned dinner, though. What did you have in mind?” Sherlock asked with interest. He was quite hungry as he had been working out quite vigorously in recent days as a way of fighting off boredom. He also felt less inclined to smoke or cover his body in nicotine patches. He found himself quite moody for the nicotine withdrawal but his dried up funds left him to spend wisely. Even now, he was contemplating whether or not he should indulge in a meal that wasn’t provided to him free of charge by Mrs. Hudson. 

Luckily, Sherlock did not eat often and when he needed sustenance, he would simply wander downstairs to visit his landlady at coincidentally the exact same time she was removing food from the stove. She loved having his company, something no one really understood and so she was happy to feed him.

Molly smiled slightly to see that Sherlock might take her up on her offer. She could really use a night out and it didn’t hurt for her to be seen with a good-looking bloke, even if there was nothing romantic between them. That was a truth she had accepted and surprisingly felt more than ok with as time went on. She realized she fantasized about Sherlock for all the wrong reasons and saw that they truly were incompatible as a couple and better off in their odd friendship. She didn’t believe for a moment that Sherlock was completely against the idea of romantic attachments despite all that he had ever said on the subject but she knew that he would eventually find his match. 

Molly shrugged to Sherlock’s question, “I don’t know. How about Chinese?” Sherlock pondered on it for a moment and countered, “How about Japanese? I know an excellent sushi den by Camden Market.”

“It’s a bit late to head up to Camden, don’t you think?” Molly asked hesitantly. She didn’t mind the short trip to Camden but it was the half hour on the tube to get back to her flat near St. Bart’s that she was concerned about. She had never been too fond of being out too much after dark. Despite having taken several self-defense courses she still found that with her tiny frame she was easily overpowered. She didn’t mind being in familiar territory such as Baker Street or the short walk between her flat and work. 

Sherlock waved her off, “Nonsense, it’s only 7:30 and the restaurant is open until at least 11. Give me a few moments to make myself presentable and we can walk over.”

“Walk?” Molly squeaked. Sherlock’s face looked a bit red but Molly assumed it was just from his exercising. She had completely forgotten that he was still in his boxers as he began to push himself onto his feet. He smoothed out his undergarments and replied, “Yes, walk. It’s on the opposite side of Regent’s Park. We could be there by 8.”

Sherlock was blushing but Molly didn’t need to know that. He was suggesting walking because he could not pay for a cab and he could not very well ask Molly to pay for it. He normally wouldn’t worry about such a thing but seeing as she was one of his last remaining friends who gave him the time of day, he knew he couldn’t be too expecting of her as he had been with John in the past. He quickly excused himself to shower and change.

Molly looked at the towel that Sherlock had had under his body. She could see the shape of his waist in sweat on the dark fabric of the pillowcase. She bent down and grabbed the case by the dry areas fabric and placed it on the chair near the kitchen entry. There was no explaining what made her feel compelled to pick it up. Now that the distraction of Sherlock’s body was out of the room, she saw the flat as it was – a disaster. Picking up the pillow had not even made a dent in the mess.

Without another thought, the pathologist slipped out of her oversized brown canvas jacket. It had been her father’s before he had died nearly eight years earlier. It was one of the few things she had kept of his. The rest had to be sold off to settle his debts that had accumulated from nearly a decade of being chronically ill. It was a relief when she found he had died peacefully in his sleep on New Year’s Day. They had spent the night bundled in sweaters and cocooned in every blanket they could find in the hospital as they watched the fireworks around the city from the roof of St. Bart’s. She still remembered seeing the colors in the sky reflecting off his normally haze eyes in delight. He had never looked more alive that night but a few hours later pancreatic cancer claimed him.

The roof of St. Bart’s held mixed feelings for Molly Hooper. Before Sherlock’s confrontation with James Moriarty, she would sit up there and stare at the hazy night sky. There was no possible way to see the stars with the light pollution so she always imagined fireworks exploding above her. She’d stay there until Jamia, the night security guard who would allow her on the roof, would come and tell her it was time to go.

Ever since Moriarty’s blood had stained the roof, Molly refused to go to her once favorite place to be alone. She missed it more than anything but all after all the guilt she felt with what had happened with the criminal mastermind, she could no longer feel at peace there.

“What are you doing?”

Sherlock’s deep voice pulled Molly from her mind and it caused her to realize that she had begun to clean Sherlock’s flat. She had stacked numerous files into a neat pile and folded his expensive designer clothes that had been crumbled throughout the living room. The consulting detective’s eyes flickered down to the pillow on the seat and stiffly reached for it, “I’m aware my abode is rather untidy. John used to do the cleaning.”

“It’s been a long time since he’s been here. You can’t live like this,” Molly said softly as she placed the file that was in her hand down onto the pile she had made. She glanced at it and smiled, “I remember this case.”

“The Speckled Blonde, as John felt the need to call it,” Sherlock said sarcastically but there was a fondness in his voice that Molly couldn’t miss. She felt it best not to draw attention to it and said, “Well, you look decent enough. Shall we head out?”

Sherlock’s hair had somehow been tamed though she could tell it still needed a good washing. He donned a white button up, leaving the collar open to expose his neck. He wore plain black slacks and was pulling on his Belstaff coat as Molly grabbed her coat and put it on as well. The two silently left the flat and quietly exited the building to avoid being interrupted by Mrs. Hudson. When they were finally out into the cold night, Sherlock looked down to Molly and said, “Come along, Molly.”

Sherlock reached for arm and slipped his hand beneath hers, effectively linking their arms together. He began to tug her along as he took long strides with his tall legs toward Regent’s Park. Despite there being lighting in the dark, the park still looked intimidating to Molly but she was not alone and with someone she trusted her life with. That was all she could ask for.


	4. The Introduction, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes,” Emily said politely. She had a shy voice, which hinted that she would most likely be a quiet resident. Sherlock was finding that to be quite appealing. 
> 
> “Likewise,” Sherlock responded. He was going to address that she could call him by his first name but he liked the way she said his last name over the way her Canadian partner did so he said nothing. 

The last time Sherlock Holmes had taken the tube, because he did not qualify disengaging a bomb as a ride, he was on his way home from a case. He had been covered in blood and carrying a harpoon he had confiscated from the scene. No cab driver had stopped for him on the street and so he had been forced into the constricting confines of public transportation. It had not been as terrible as he imagined because he had been running on the high of a successful case. Now, he stared at the tube map in complete confusion.

Sherlock had been kind enough to escort Molly back to her flat. He had just enough coin in his pocket to cover the fare to get to Molly’s from the restaurant and back to his own flat – if he could get there.

The original map of the tube made perfect sense to Sherlock but the numerous signs posted aside the map declaring closures, delays, and alternate routes left him scratching his head in confusion. He withdraw his phone from his pocket, hoping to use the navigation tools in to do determine his route but forgot that the data plan he had been so dependent on had been cancelled due to lack of payment. He wasn’t sure why he was still carrying the device but he found no reason not to.

“I got ya’ covered, mate.”

Sherlock turned his head to the familiar voice and held back a smile as he nodded, “Wiggins.” It had been months since Sherlock had seen his colleague. He suspected after he had been charged with murder that he did not want Mycroft coming after him for drugging him and the brothers’ parents as well as John’s pregnant wife. He had almost forgotten the homeless drug addict existed.

The several months apart seemed to have done the shady character some good. He was wearing clean, well fitting jeans and a plaid buttoned shirt underneath a heavy, black wool pea coat. The strap of a messenger bag was slung across his chest and Sherlock eyed what looked like textbooks in the bag.

“Going to Baker Street?” Wiggins asked though he was certain of the answer as he began to lead Sherlock to a flight of stairs. Sherlock nodded and eyed the bag again, “I am. In school these days?”

A shy smile spread across the younger man’s clean-shaven face as he confirmed Sherlock’s suspicion. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a plastic card and showed it to the detective as they walked. “First semester at UCL. They even gave me free housing,” Wiggins said proudly as he showed off his school ID. 

“Chemistry?” Sherlock asked him as they turned approached the tunnel where their train would be arriving shortly. Wiggins chuckled, “Of course, what else would I go for?”

A smile crept on Sherlock’s face, “Very good. No chance you’d be willing to help out on some cases when the business picks up?” The friendly smile that was on Wiggins’ face fell into a sad and apologetic one. He reached out and patted his former mentor on the arm, “Sorry, mate, I’ve finally got me a good thing going.”

“Very well,” Sherlock said with a hint of disappoint. He sighed and held a hand out to Wiggins as the train arrived, blowing his hair back and causing his coat to billow in the process. Wiggins smiled again and quickly took the hand, shaking it firmly and said, “Don’t worry, mate, it’ll get better.”

The train stopped and doors opened, announcing to mind the gap in an annoying fashion. Sherlock pulled away from Wiggins and boarded the train, giving the younger man a final nod before the doors closed and train carried him away. 

Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around the pole in between the two doors on each side of the car and allowed the motion of the train to sway him around. The train would occasionally brake and speed up, causing him to be pulled forward and back as well as side to side. The movements reminded him of the traveling carnival his parents had taken him and Mycroft to when they were still children. He had been smart back then despite his older brother telling him otherwise. With his undeveloped but still impressive skills, he could see all the serious unsafe flaws in the rides as well as in the carnival food. Mycroft had shown no interest in any activity and even Sherlock knew the dangers, there was a ride seemed to internally tug him towards it.

The yellow flashing lights on the ride were arranged to form an animated bee and the riders sat in a spinning beehive along a track that ascended and descended like calm waves at sea. Sherlock had barely been tall enough to ride and was mildly disappointed when his father followed him through the gate and into the beehive. Thankfully, his mother and Mycroft waited outside the gates. He remembered looking through the arched opening of the beehive to them and seeing his mother’s worried smile. He suspected she felt similarly to the carnival as he did though his father seemed blissfully content with the loud and bright attractions.

When the ride started, Sherlock could not see his mother again as the beehive spun around and wiped him back and forth, causing him to collide against his father and the walls of the beehive despite having been strapped in. The blur of lights outside where causing him to feel lightheaded and so he shut his eyes and focused on controlling his movements along with the momentum of the ride. He felt the light feeling in his head spread through his body, into his chest, as if he could fly out of his seat.

Sherlock had never had childish dreams or fantasies but at that moment, if he could have been anything he ever desired, he would have been a bee. The young boy was lost in his thoughts and the motion that he was startled when he felt large hands on his shoulder and his name being called out in concern.

Sherlock gasped, realizing his eyes had been closed. Now that they were open, he looked across the train car and saw several teenagers with their phones and cameras pointed at him. There was a woman with a small child in her arms looking panicked at his presence. As soon as the train stopped, she hopped off at the station and looked anxiously back at him as the doors eventually shut. Clearly, it was not her station and she was waiting for the next train rather than stay in the same one with him.

“Hey, you’re Sherlock Holmes, right?” 

The consulting detective looked to his other side to see a young man, probably fresh out of his teen years, giving him a smug smile. Sherlock took a step away from him and brushed his sleeve as his arm as come into contact with the boy. He nodded and before he could ask what he wanted, the boy asked, “Is it true you blew a guy’s head off?!”

The excitement in the young boys bright green eyes concerned Sherlock so he took another step back the same moment the train began to make a turn. The sudden change in motion caused him to fall back and he hiss loudly as his left elbow made contact with the edge of one of the hard plastic seats.

“Ryan! Get over here right now or so help me…”

A woman shrieked from across the train and Sherlock looked up to see a stern looking woman, nearly half his height, come stomping over. She grabbed the boy’s arm and said, “I’m sorry, sir, he’s always stirring up troub-” Her voice caught in her throat as she looked down at Sherlock and recognition showed in her features. Her grip tightened on the boy’s sleeve and she began to pull him away, muttering under her breath about him being a murderer.

Sherlock pulled himself up and grabbed the pole he had originally been holding onto and used his free hand to brush his pants and coat off. He ignored the continued staring and photos being taken of him. With great relief, Baker Street was announced as the next stop and he quickly departed the train as soon as the doors opened. He could feel the occupants of the train staring at his backside and he did his best to ignore it as he briskly walked to the stairs.

When finally out on the street, Sherlock breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the cold night air hit his pale face. He took several deep breaths before walking more calmly toward his building. Sherlock was still several paces away from his front door when a cab pulled up in front of 221B. He paused and watched as the door opened and a leg stuck out before the rest of the body of his neighbor.

Larry did not notice Sherlock until he helped a woman exit from the cab. She was as short as Molly Hooper except that her body was bulkier and she had quite short dark hair. When she said, “Thanks, hun,” Sherlock knew instantly from her lack of a British accent but a heavy New England one that she was American and the mysterious fiancée that Mycroft had alluded to had finally arrived.

The couple shared a brief kiss before the woman stuck her head in the cab and pulled out a suitcase. She pulled it onto the sidewalk as Larry retrieved another large suitcase and handed the driver money for his services. After he had closed the door and saw the cab begin to pull, Larry looked down the sidewalk to see Sherlock slowly approaching.

“Sherlock!” Larry called out happily and put his arm on his fiancée’s back, getting her attention. She turned and looked to Sherlock, looking a bit hesitant about the man’s presence on the dark street. Knowing there was no way to avoid the confrontation, Sherlock quickened his pace again and stopped before the pair. He forced a friendly smile on his face as Larry introduced him to his partner.

“Sherlock Holmes, this is my fiancée Emily Butler. Emily, this is Sherlock, a famous detective!” Larry said enthusiastically. Emily nodded and held a hand out to Sherlock. Normally, he would shake a woman’s hand as he would a man’s but instead he took it like a gentleman, allowing her fingers to rest in his palm, offering them a gentle squeeze as his slender digits folded over them. She slowly pulled her hand from his, surprising him with heavy calluses scraping his soft skin.

Sherlock took a moment to obtain as much information about Emily as he could. She was no older than her mid-twenties with a calm and stress free complexion. He suspected she was an athlete of some sort by the fact that she indeed had a heavier frame than Molly but the definition in her shoulders and neck suggested a muscular body rather than an unhealthy one. He could not determine her occupation but he could see that she had left behind a pet, had a layover in Iceland, and a passenger sitting on her right with psoriasis. She seemed to take care of herself well enough and didn’t seem to have an outward signs of being an irritating neighbor. For the time being, she had his approval.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes,” Emily said politely. She had a shy voice, which hinted that she would most likely be a quiet resident. Sherlock was finding that to be quite appealing. 

“Likewise,” Sherlock responded. He was going to address that she could call him by his first name but he liked the way she said his last name over the way her Canadian partner did so he said nothing. 

Larry was next to speak, announcing it was late and that Emily had a long flight. Sherlock had barely noticed the dark crescent moons under her eyes. Her dark brown eyes were enough to distract from the flaw. 

To Sherlock’s surprise, Emily was carrying the larger suitcase and seemed to be struggling less that her fiancé was with the smaller one. He made an offer to the newest addition of 221C to help but she waved him down. Surprised, he walked ahead of them and held the front door open for them. They thanked him and headed for the stairs to their own flat as Sherlock headed up the stairs to his own.

“Goodnight, Mr. Holmes,” Emily called out to Sherlock as he placed his hand on his doorknob. He paused and turned his head to look down the stairs even though she had already passed them and responded, “Goodnight, Emily.”


End file.
